The Timeless Love Romance Collection

by Dianne Christner

“I’m fine.”

  “Come on, let’s share the two blankets.”

  Jamie’s father turned and raised an eyebrow at his daughter.

  Dameon must have seen her father’s admonition. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

  Men. She let out a small huff. Dameon is too proud and Father is overprotective. I was just offering the man some warmth.… Her thoughts trailed off. Perhaps Father wasn’t being so overprotective, after all.

  A dozen or so athletes from Switzerland passed by.

  Pleasure oozed from Dameon’s pores. The man was absolutely radiant. His hazel eyes danced across the crowd, capturing every movement.

  “I told you you’d have a good time.”

  “It’s wonderful.”

  They sat silently for the remainder of the ceremonies. When the music stopped and the people had cheered, it was time to go home.

  “Thank you, Jamie, Mr. and Mrs. Preston. I had a marvelous time.”

  “You’re welcome, son.” Her mother turned toward Jamie. “Honey, your father and I are scheduled to have dinner with Dr. Dewey and the others on the committee. We’ll probably be up late solving any last-minute details.”

  “Need a hand?” Jamie asked.

  “Thank you, but I believe we can handle it. Everything has gone rather smoothly to this point.” Her parents stepped down from the bleachers and headed back up to the country club.

  Jamie led Dameon down to the arena. “The ice track for the speed skating is over here.”

  “Yeah, the guys showed me around the other day.”

  “Oh, sorry.” He seemed rigid, defensive almost. “Did I do something to offend you?”

  “It’s the second time today you’ve assumed I didn’t know anything.” He paused. “Perhaps I’m just defensive.”

  “Perhaps, but I didn’t assume you didn’t know anything. I was merely trying to make conversation. How was I supposed to know you knew who FDR was? I couldn’t know if you’ve seen pictures of him. I guess you probably have if you knew he was running for president.”

  “Even things like presidential elections make their way to small farm towns.” His words bit back.

  “Oh, I get it. You’ve decided because my family has money, I’m a rich snob.”

  Dameon raised his hands in surrender. “No, not exactly. I—”

  “You what? You think a rich snob would open their home to you? You think a rich snob would bend over backwards to find you work and a place to stay? I can’t believe you.” Jamie stomped off. Of all the ungrateful people I’ve ever met.

  “Jamie,” Dameon called from behind. “Jamie, I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m overly sensitive.”

  Jamie stopped walking. The stadium was nearly empty of people. She turned to look at him. He held out his hand. “Truce?” he offered.

  “Truce.” She captured his hand and shook it. She shivered.

  He reached for her and pulled her toward himself and wrapped her in one of the wool blankets he was carrying. She quivered and stepped back. Distance was much better.

  Dameon coughed. “Jamie, I was wondering if I could wash some clothing at your place before I leave in the morning.”

  “Sure. We have a washing machine. I hear they’re making dryers to tumble clothes dry now. I can’t imagine it.”

  “Now that is something I never heard about. I’m not sure whether Mother would like one of those or not.”

  “There’s something about fresh linens off the line. Of course, in the winter they freeze and you have to hang them around the radiators and stoves.”

  Jamie drove them back to the farmhouse.

  “How long have you been driving?”

  Is he criticizing my driving now? “For a couple years. Why?”

  “Just wondering. There aren’t too many women in my area who drive.”

  “I see.”

  “Perhaps we ought not to try and make conversation. We seem to step on each other’s toes.”

  She thought about how to respond. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to make conversation with the man. It was more that she was on edge being next to him. An edge she’d never experienced before with another man. “I’m just wondering why we could talk so easily the other night and tonight we find it extremely difficult.”

  Dameon leaned back against the front seat. “Maybe because I was—”

  A deer jumped out in front of her vehicle. Jamie slammed on the brakes. The car swerved to the right, then fishtailed to the left. Jamie pulled the wheel hard to the right and pumped the brakes.

  Crash!

  Chapter 4

  Dameon groaned. Cold and pain enveloped him. Where am I? He blinked, trying to focus. The bark of a large oak tree stared him in the face. Accident. Jamie.

  “Jamie.” He twisted to his left and found her lying across the steering wheel. “Jamie, wake up.” He reached over and gently moved her bangs from her eyes. His heart caught for a moment when he saw the lump on her forehead. Rolling down his window, he reached out for some snow and compressed it into a small ice pack for her forehead.

  He placed her in a protective embrace and leaned her body against his. With his right hand, he applied the cold snow to her forehead.

  Her eyes blinked.

  Water dripped from the snow down the sides of her face. Dameon scanned the compartment for something to sop up the trails of water. Seeing nothing, he used the sleeves of his wool coat.

  Her delicate pink lips parted. A gentle moan passed through them. Her eyes fluttered once again.

  “Jamie, wake up, please.”

  She opened her eyes—the pupils were wide open. Concussion, he worried.

  “You hit a tree to avoid the deer.”

  She started to bolt up. He held her down.

  “Shh, relax for a minute; get your equilibrium first.” He liked the feel of her in his arms. Where did that come from? He looked back down at the incredible woman. Her beauty went beyond her physical appearance. Admit it; you’ve been attracted to her since you first laid eyes on her, he reminded himself.

  “What happened?”

  “You hit a tree,” he patiently repeated. “Trying to avoid a deer.”

  “Oh, no. How bad is the damage?”

  “To you or the car?”

  “The car.”

  “I don’t know; I haven’t gotten out. I was knocked out for a minute, too.”

  “Are you okay?” She tried to lean her head back.

  “Stay still. You’ve got quite an egg on your forehead.”

  “It feels cold and wet.”

  “I have an ice pack made from snow on it.”

  “Oh.” Jamie blinked. “I feel a little dizzy.”

  Should he lay her down on the seat and go outside to check on the damage? He should probably get her to one of the doctors at the Olympic village. There had to be a few available somewhere. “Let me put you down. I’m going to check on the car.”

  She nodded her head. “Ouch.”

  Dameon paused. “You okay?”

  “I’ll live. I just can’t move my head without it hurting some.”

  “Hang on. Let me check.”

  With all the care he could muster, he placed her gently on the seat, then pushed at his door. It didn’t budge. He rolled down the window and wiggled his body out. The impact had left them pushed sideways in a hard bluff of snow. Huge mounds from the snowplows lined the edge of the street.

  Jamie sat up in the cab. She grasped the steering wheel. “How bad is it?”

  “You’re supposed to be lying down,” he scolded. “I don’t know yet. I’m going to have to dig around the car to check it out.”

  “Want a hand?”

  “No. You are a stubborn one, aren’t you?”

  Jamie giggled. “I’ve been called worse. I’m coming out.” The driver’s door creaked open.

  Dameon rolled his eyes heavenward. “Can You get through to her?”

  “Probably not,” Jamie answered with a smile.

  “You’re unsteady on
your feet. Why can’t you just relax and let me help you?”

  “Oh, all right. Why do you men always feel like you have to rescue the woman?”

  “Because some women need rescuing from themselves.” He led her back to the cab. “Jamie, you may have a concussion. There’s no need pushing yourself too hard. I’m going to see if I can drive the car back to the country club. I’m sure someone there will be able to fetch a doctor. If I can’t drive the car, I’ll carry you back.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind. I’ll walk,” she protested.

  “I thought debutantes liked men waiting on them hand and foot.”

  She crossed her arms. “Not this one.”

  Dameon chuckled. “That’s obvious. Please take this in the best possible way. You need to sit down and relax. I’m certain you’re fine, but there’s no need risking that pretty little head of yours.”

  Her eyes widened.

  What had he said? He rehearsed the lines he’d spoken. Pretty. “You are pretty; is that such a shock? Don’t those men who attend those debutante balls know how to compliment a woman? Back on the farm, a man has no trouble telling a woman she’s beautiful.”

  A smile spread from ear to ear. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He formed a new snow pack for her forehead. “Now put this on your forehead and lean back.”

  She obeyed without a further word. Had he simply needed to tell her how beautiful she was to get her to cooperate?

  Jamie lay in her bed. Dameon had managed to get the car out of the tree and embankment, then to her parents and a doctor. An hour later, she wore clean clothes and was resting in her bed. Dameon had been correct in his assumption of a mild concussion. Her head throbbed from the pounding headache. The doctor had given her something for the pain but told her to wait as long as possible before taking it. Being awake was more important than sleeping or being pain free.

  A gentle knock sounded on her door.

  “Come in,” she called out.

  “How are you feeling?” Dameon’s smile sent a shiver down her spine. His words about how beautiful she was floated back to the surface of her throbbing brain.

  “Apart from feeling like my head hit a tree, all right.” She grinned, then grimaced from the pain.

  He limped closer to her bed. “Doc said you’ll be fine in the morning. A bit stiff but fine.”

  “Were you hurt? You’re limping.”

  “I’m fine—just banged my knee on the dashboard.”

  “Did you have the doctor take a look?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Jamie chuckled. “Do I need to tell you you’re handsome so you’ll stop long enough and have the doctor look at you?”

  Dameon let out a half chuckle. “Doesn’t work the same with a guy.”

  “Oh, so you’re not at all impressed when I say I love your hazel eyes.”

  He stepped back.

  “Gotcha,” Jamie teased.

  He sat down in the chair next to her bed. “The cook at the club asked if I could work as his head dishwasher through the games. It’ll give me nine more days of work.”

  “That’s wonderful. Did my parents say you could stay?”

  “Your parents think I’m sliced bread. They’re very down-to-earth people. Your father is a little closed on his emotions, but he’s so touched by how I took care of you.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Jamie, I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have done. Don’t get me wrong—I appreciate a place to stay. But I’m not special.”

  She reached out her hand. Dameon hesitated, then took her hand into his own. “Dameon, you are special.”

  “Jamie, let’s be honest here for a moment. I’m attracted to you. Is it really wise for me to stay here? We come from such different worlds. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Jamie’s heart leapt. “The attraction is mutual, but what could be the harm in becoming friends? If you’re working every day, we’ll barely see one another.”

  “True.”

  “Take my parents up on the offer. There’s plenty of room, and we’re both adults. We can be friends, right?”

  Dameon released her hand and laced his hands together. “Can a man and woman become only friends when attraction is there?”

  “I don’t know, but we could try, couldn’t we?” She didn’t want him out of her life. There were things about him that fascinated her. She wanted to get to know him. At the same time, she’d never met a person so straightforward about himself. It was refreshing. In her social circles, all the men appeared to have the same agenda: pick the right wife who will help you climb the social ladder. Jamie had determined long ago she wouldn’t do that. Her parents were an example of people who had wealth but who also genuinely loved one another. She wanted that, and she met precious few men who were after love.

  Dameon took in a deep sigh and let it out slowly. “We can try. Why is it that we find it so easy to talk with one another, then so easily find ourselves arguing and talking past one another?”

  “I don’t know, but just the thought of it is giving me a headache.”

  “I’m sorry.” He got up. “I’ll leave you to your rest. Would you like me to send your mother in with your pain medication?”

  “Yes, please.” Discussing personal feelings with her head pounding wouldn’t do. On the other hand, discussing these same feelings with her heart beating rapidly from his touch, his voice, his masculine scent probably wouldn’t do, either. Dameon was right: They did live in entirely different worlds. Would they ever be able to cross that void and simply overlook their heritages?

  “Sleep tight, beautiful.” He blushed. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to remember not to tell you how beautiful you are.”

  Jamie chuckled with pain. Please, don’t stop.

  Three days later, Dameon decided his fears were unwarranted. Jamie and he had said very little besides an occasional “hello” and “how are you?” The hours working in the kitchen had been very demanding. He woke up an hour earlier every morning then the others and did some chores around the house. Chopping wood and keeping the woodstove stocked were the least he could do for free room and board. He’d shovel the walkways after the snow fell and gather the eggs and feed the chickens each morning. Shoveling out the henhouse hadn’t been done for quite a while. One thing became painfully obvious: These folks were not farmers. And they hadn’t hired the staff to attend to the few farming matters that were necessary.

  The Prestons weren’t what he would describe as typical rich folks. Not that he had ever really met anyone who was rich. He learned they owned property in Greece and took a yearly trip there. The most interesting thing he’d observed was that they were real people with ordinary, everyday issues that even his parents had to deal with.

  Jamie seemed always in the thick of things, working with the other volunteers. Tonight she had made arrangements for them to spend some time with one another at the house.

  Dameon looked up at the wall clock and back at the mound of dishes. His helper had snuck out an hour earlier, leaving him with all the cleanup after the dinner meal. He’d be lucky to get out before eleven. How could he get word to Jamie?

  He penned a note on a brown paper towel with a grease pen. “Jamie, sorry I have to work late. Dameon.”

  He left the kitchen and scanned the few remaining souls in the club, looking for someone to deliver his message. Seeing Dr. Dewey, he slowly approached him. “Excuse me, sir.”

  “Yes, may I help you?”

  “I hope so. I need to get this message to Jamie Preston. Is it possible you might find someone to pass it on to her or her parents?”

  He reached out and took the note. “I’ll find someone.” He knitted his eyebrows together. “Are you the young man who came here hoping to compete?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ah, well, sorry about that, but I heard the cook is very impressed with your work. Keep it up, son. Everyone doing their part is making these Oly
mpics quite a success. Wasn’t it exciting to see Jack Shea win?”

  “I managed to see that heat on my break. Good race, very good.” Dameon’s heart had pounded with each breath Jack Shea took as he skated to victory that day.

  Dr. Dewey slapped him on the back and pushed the note into the pocket of his full-length fur coat. “Glad to see you saw some of the action. I must be off. I’ll deliver your message.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Dameon headed back to the kitchen. The memory of Jack Shea flying across the ice flooded back into his mind. It truly had been quite an occasion. Dameon felt blessed having been able to see the race in person.

  Around midnight, Dameon arrived at the Prestons’. He didn’t want to wake the family, but he needed a shower. He didn’t relish going to sleep while smelling like stale grease and old garbage. As quietly as possible, he slipped into the heated shower and lathered up his body. A simple rinse and a quick wash of his hair ended in an all-time speed record of three minutes. Hopefully he hadn’t awakened the Prestons.

  Changed and ready for bed, he gathered his soiled clothes and made his way downstairs, walking in his stocking feet to keep the noise to a minimum.

  “Hello,” Jamie’s sweet voice purred from the kitchen table. She had a cup of hot cocoa in her hand. “Want a cup?”

  “Love one, thanks. Let me get rid of these clothes.”

  She nodded her agreement.

  Jamie’s presence engaged all of his senses. How could it be possible to desire to spend more time with someone who he knew he’d never be able to live his life with? A story from the Bible captured his imagination. Hadn’t Ruth become Boaz’s wife? Social class was something man created, not God.

  Is she the one for me, Lord? Apart of me desires her more than any other woman. Yet I can’t get past the differences. She’s led a life in which servants take care of her every wish. How could she settle for life on a farm? His mother worked from sunup to sundown. Jamie couldn’t do that. Could she?

  He made his way back to the kitchen. She smiled as he entered the room. “How are you?” he asked.

  “Fine. Nasty bruise,” she added, lifting her bangs to reveal the greens and purples of a healing contusion.

  “Definitely prettier with the bangs down,” he agreed. She handed him a warm mug of hot chocolate. “Thanks.”